Fuel
by StrawberryStatement
Summary: Four years ago, Dominic Cobb pulled one last job in order to see his children. He had only moments with them before the FBI swarmed the house and took him to prison. Now, he's out for revenge, determined to solve the mystery of his betrayal.
1. Chapter 1

**Note: Sequel to Inception with revenge theme lifted from Kill Bill. Inception and its ideas and characters belong to Christopher Nolan. Kill Bill and its ideas and characters belong to Quentin Tarantino and his various sources of inspiration. Tom Hansen belongs to (500) Days of Summer and Marc Webb and is only alluded to...for now.**

**Summary: Four years ago, Dominic Cobb pulled one last job in order to see his children. He had only moments with them before the FBI swarmed the house and took him to prison. Now, he's broken out of prison and out for revenge, desperate to the solve the mystery of his betrayal.**

1. Ariadne.

He drives up to a cozy brick house sandwiched between mailboxes that identify themselves as belonging to the Bells and the Browns, and notices a plastic playset sitting in the grass. The set is in theprocess of being built; all of its pieces are custom-made, a bright assortment of impossible angles and slides and nylon ropes. An involuntary smile curls his mouth. Of course, after all that she's been through, she would bring the same sense of whimsy and strangeness to everything else in her life. He sees the frames on the windows of the house have been taken out and hammered back in so they lean slightly to the left. The entire place is red and green and cheerful.  
Neither of the owners have cars. Her blue bicycle leans against the iron railing that circles the porch. She's home.  
He climbs out of the rental car, shuts the door and pulls down the sleeves of his leather jacket, ignoring how his hands shake. The cement path leading to the door is short, maybe three steps long. He steps onto the porch, glances around at the odd playset, and rings the bell.  
She answers on the second ring, opening the door in a huff, her eyes big and angry. "You said you'd be here - " She pauses, recognizing him.  
He takes a second to look her over. Her hair's been cut short, hanging around her face in a curly bob. Bangs fall across her eyes, which are seemingly darker and surrounded by a few acute wrinkles. She's a little heavier in her chest and belly. For a moment, he's terrified that she's pregnant.  
"Mr. Cobb?" she says.  
The plan was to shove her back into the house and render her unconscious so he can hook her up to the PASIV. He's got the needle in his pocket. Instead, he offers her a sheepish grin. "Ariadne, how are you?"  
She lunges forward and hugs him, crushing him against her little body. When they part, there's tears welling up in her eyes. "When did you get out?"  
Cobb stiffens. "Only Tuesday."  
She laughs. "That's great, Dom. That's really great." She gestures for him to step inside. "Come on, let me show you how boring my life has become." She smiles as she disappears ahead of him into the house, tiptoeing around stuffed animals and half-finished puzzles.  
He follows her, shutting the door behind him.

The place is a happy mess. Daisy chains of paper dolls and animals wind from ceiling to ceiling. Three kinds of art cover the walls; black and white professional prints of world architecture, hand drawn sketches of fantastic building staggering around each other, and sloppy crayola drawings depicting life in Ariadne's new home. Each crayola drawing is signed by a young artist named Diana. He leans in to take a closer look at the pencil sketches and sees that they're signed by Tom.  
"Are these the work of your husband?" he asks.  
Ariadne meets him and hands him a glass of warm tea. "Yes, he and Diana have a competition going to see who can cover the most walls. She's winning."  
"How old is she?"  
Ariadne blushes. "She's four."  
He nearly spits out his tea. "Forgive me for saying so, but that didn't take long."  
"Why don't we sit down in the kitchen? Neither of us are very good cooks, but I think we have some leftover Chinese in the fridge."  
"Sure."

They sit opposite each other at a wooden table covered by a linen tablecloth painted with tulips and winding rows of wildflowers. He watches her eat noodles in silence, waiting for her to ask.  
She does. "Dom, have you seen them yet?" She looks at him, legitimately worried.  
He shakes his head. "Not yet. Miles doesn't know I'm out. No one does."  
"No offense," Ariadne says, laughing, "but why did you visit me, then? Your children have been waiting an awfully long time. And what about Arthur?"  
He stands. "Truthfully, I don't think Arthur's concerned," he replies, trying to sound as bland as possible.  
"Look, I don't know what happened after the inception, but I make it a policy to butt into your business, Mr. Cobb," Ariadne says. "Stop wasting time. Go see your kids. I don't know what I would do if I couldn't see Diana, or Tom."  
"Where'd you two meet?" He looks away from her, staring at a family portrait hanging above the stove. Diana is Ariadne's smaller twin, dark wavy hair and big eyes. Tom strikes him, bearing a strongresemblance to Arthur. Rage consumes him, filling up his body with crackling heat. He glances back at Ariadne, who's staring at him, wearing the same fearful look she had on when she first met Mal's shade. "Ariadne?"  
"I left Paris after what we did to Fischer, stayed in Los Angeles for a while. We met there."  
"And you ended up in New York."  
She shrugs. "There were more jobs here. Not that I needed the money. Mr. Saito was very generous."  
"I'm sure he was."  
"Dom, why are you here?"  
They stare at each other, years between them, leaving things unsaid. He can tell she's frightened now. She was younger than any of them, that much faster at catching up to secrets and tricks they wouldn't have noticed. He loves her, in his own way. She was the one who helped him accept his own part in Mal's death. He never dreamed of his wife anymore. Mal never appeared, with or without the PASIV, eyes flashing with fury, accusing him of betrayal and murder. She was gone forever and it was better that way. He knew she would tell him to leave this house and forget what had happened four years ago. If any of them deserved forgiveness, it was Ariadne.  
"Dom?"  
But there it was. He took the family portrait off the wall, rubbing his thumb over Diana's winking face. They all went through hell and made it out, except for him. Everyone got what they wanted, except for him. Even Ariadne, who wanted Arthur and got Tom, who wanted him to have his family back but instead earned her own. He suddenly hates it here. He throws the picture on the ground and Ariadne steps back, inching away from the broken glass.  
"Dom," she says, again, "when you get out?"  
Dom pulls the needle out of his pocket and waves it at her. "You tell me," he replies.

When it's done, there's some blood on the carpet because Ariadne broke a nail trying to claw her way back inside, screaming at him to let her go.  
There's no fight in her now. She sleeps quietly in the back of the car, put under by a sedative strong enough to take down ten much larger men. Her eyes rush back and forth under her lids as she sleeps, and he knows she's dreaming.  
He thinks she's dreaming of a way out.

He waits until he's a few miles outside of the city before he calls Fischer. Robert answers on the first ring. "Good morning, Mr. Charles," he says. Cobb knows that he's sneering. "Were you successful?"  
"Good morning, Mr. Fischer," Cobb says. "Yes, I was. Now tell me where he is."  
"Will you bring her in?"  
"She's in the car right now."  
"Good." There's a pause on the other end. Fischer calling his men to have the room ready. "He's in Paris again - "  
Cobb hangs up and curses. He pulls over to the side of the road, ignoring the angry honks of the tourists and skinny locals. He checks Ariadne in the rearview mirror, watching her sleep. He reaches for the bag sitting on the passenger seat to his right and slips out a yellow notepad with five names written on it in red ink. He grabs a black marker from the glove compartment and crosses out Ariadne's name.  
He circles the next one on the list.  
"I'm coming for you, Arthur," he says, "in Paris."  
He puts everything back in its place and drives back onto the road.


	2. Chapter 2

**Note: Sequel to Inception with revenge theme lifted from Kill Bill. Inception and its ideas and characters belong to Christopher Nolan. Kill Bill and its ideas and characters belong to Quentin Tarantino and his various sources of inspiration.**

2. Arthur.

He wastes time on the plane on memories, hours better spent thinking about how he will win this small war. He thinks, Arthur, and his gut coils around a sharp, hot stone in his stomach, as if Arthur has become a cancer growing inside of him.  
He closes his eyes and he doesn't dream. He relives his memories.

_Arthur was twenty when they first met, handsome and square, the picture of the perfect American soldier, if the picture had been taken during the mid-century. He'd been enrolled in a military dream-sharing program for two years, promoted almost immediately after joining the service. He rose in the ranks quickly because he was smart and quiet and quick on his feet. There was danger about him from the start, waiting in the corners of his dark eyes or tucked into the sly quirk of his mouth, but no one spoke of it._  
_Dom is man enough to admit he didn't like having Arthur around Mal. Friends or not, men are beasts when it comes to territory, and Arthur made Mal laugh too loudly. Arthur never said or did anything untoward, but the potential was there, slinking between them like an unfriendly cat. Arthur didn't have many friends, only Mal and Dom. Dom suspects it was because of the quality of Arthur's friendship, a ship stuck in the middle of sinking and you were never sure if Arthur would save you. Not that he could not, but he would not._  
_He remembers Arthur introducing him to Eames, rolling his shoulders toward a solid wall of a British man with a big mouth that said too much. Mal noticed it first, how Arthur would cajole and maneuver Eames into position like a living chess piece, pushing him too far. Dom didn't notice until their first real job together, an heiress in Italy, Eames unexpectedly nervous, Arthur murmuring in a clipped voice, gunfire, real fire, Cobol on their tail, Eames stuck in a hospital for three weeks and Arthur never visiting. He did visit, checking to make sure Eames would survive. There was no resentment in Eames. Dom stayed and listened to the radio and began to dislike Arthur for his absence._  
_If anyone asked him four years ago, he would have told them Arthur was his best friend. What he wouldn't have told them, was that he firmly believed in keeping your enemies close. He was stuck in the middle of sinking with Arthur, hanging in mid air, unable to hate or truly love him. Sometimes his memory lied to him, told him that Arthur came into their den and watched him and Mal sleep, watched them sink farther into limbo. Even now, he thinks it's an insane idea._

He opens his eyes and he's in Paris, walking toward a gothic building with many windows, each of them belonging to a separate, luxurious loft. The cancer in his stomach is uncoiling, reaching out to his limbs, burning in his fingers and toes. This time, he carries both a gun and a needle in his coat. These are in the right pocket. A surprise for Arthur waits in the left pocket. Fischer wants Arthur alive. He's not so sure.  
There's no man waiting for him at the building's front door, no security to lie through. He enters the building, walks calmly over to the lift on the other side of the foyer, and punches Arthur's floor.  
The lift is small, crowding him. As floors pass, he imagines Mal's face will suddenly appear through the grate, warning him to stop. If not her, then Ariadne will appear at his side, younger again, hair flying around her face. She will tell him that this is not how he will see his children again. This time, he will ignore them. Arthur's on floor nine.  
He steps out of the lift, his shoes crushing into the thick carpet below, red and gold, and steps up to Arthur's door. There's no peephole, which surprises him. He reaches into his coat and grabs the gun. He knocks with his free hand.  
There's no answer.  
After a few long moments, he knocks again. A voice calls out, rough and deep. There's movement on the other side, shuffling steps to the door. It opens, swinging easily on its hinges, and Arthur looks at Dom. Dom looks at Arthur, pointing the gun at Arthur's chest.  
"Hello, Dom," Arthur says.  
"Turn around and go inside," Dom says.  
Arthur nods. "Give me a second to sort myself out." He leans forward, putting all of his weight on a slender black cane, and turns, stepping back into his home. He walks with a noticeable limp, his shoulders hunched from the strain. "Welcome back to Paris. Close the door."

The loft is in Arthur's style, spare and minimalist, tan and black. The den flows into a gleaming kitchenette, broken in two by a black spiraling staircase that leads to an open bedroom upstairs. There are no pictures on the walls, no signs of ownership except for a few pieces of mail piled neatly on a lacquered coffee table. Arthur limps over to a sleek black chair and sits, beckoning for Dom to follow. "I guess you're here to kill me," he says, "which means you're probably the reason Ariadne's disappeared from New York. Her family's worried sick, by the way."  
Dom raises an eyebrow. "I know the feeling." He puts the gun on the coffee table, reaches into his left pocket, and places Ariadne's totem next to the gun. He knocks the bishop over. It rolls in an arc, catching the light from a lamp hanging from the ceiling.  
Arthur's mouth tightens into a thin line at the sight of it. Softly, he says, "Are you putting together a collection?"  
Dom nods. "Yes. I'll have yours by tonight."  
"Is that so?"  
Dom nods again. "How'd you hurt your leg?"  
Arthur snorts. "After our last job, Eames lost his temper. It turns out he really doesn't appreciate being lied to."  
"He shot you?"  
"Right where Mal put a bullet in my dream not too long ago, with Saito, you remember?" Arthur picks up Ariadne's totem, inspecting it. "And thank God for Mr. Saito. I couldn't walk for months, had to retire." He glances at Dom. "How was prison, by the way?"  
"Not good."  
"And you know I've called the police?"  
"You probably did that before my plane landed."  
"You don't seem worried."  
Dom stands and picks up the gun. He points it at Arthur's head, takes the needle out of his right pocket, and hands it to him. "You sold me out, Arthur. But you're going to make it better by injecting yourself with this. It won't kill you, but you will be asleep for a long time. And when you wake up, you're going to wish I had the courage to pull the trigger."  
"Strong words from a scary man," Arthur scoffs. "Look at you, all grown up and out for revenge. Don't worry, I'm not strong enough to put up a fight anymore." He picks up the needle. "I guess I'll see you later." He sticks the needle into the crease of his elbow. "Let me say one thing."  
"Go ahead."  
"You deserved it."  
Arthur drifts off a minute later, eyes slipping shut, the cane falling from his hands and hitting the floor with a soft thud.  
In the distance, Dom can hear police sirens. He points the gun at Arthur's temple again, willing himself to the pull the trigger. Piaf erupts from his pants pocket, startling him. Fischer. He's beginning to believe that all extraordinarily wealthy businessmen amass their fortunes by supernatural determination. God's will be done.  
"Mr. Fischer."  
"Mr. Charles." Fischer won't let him forget.  
"It was easier than I expected," Dom admits.  
"If there's one lesson I learned from my bastard father," Fischer intones, "it's that if what you want is attained too easily, you've got more coming than you bargained for."  
"He's unconscious."  
"And you should know better than anyone that what happens to us in our dreams can be dangerous."  
Dom swallows. "Are you sending your men?"  
"They'll be around. Meet them by the station a few blocks south," Fischer says. "You're doing very well, Mr. Charles."  
"Thank you."  
The phone clicks and the line ends.

The line he draws through Arthur's name is thin and wavering, unsure of itself. Arthur remains silent and docile, peaceful in sleep. He doesn't like the look on Arthur's face even as he sleeps, an arched look of awareness. Arthur has a fight in store for him, somewhere down the line. Dom hopes he'll be ready.  
In the mean time, he circles the next name on the list and relaxes into his seat as Fischer's men pull up in their van. He doesn't have to ask questions about Yusuf. Yusuf will be found where he's always been, working in a dirty lab in Mombasa. Four years won't have changed much about him.  
"Yusuf," Dom whispers. He opens the door for Fischer's men. They pick up Arthur's body and carry him into the van. Ariadne. Arthur. Yusuf.  
Dom sighs. "Maybe I'll kill your damn cat."  
Maybe he will.


	3. Chapter 3

**Note: Sequel to Inception with revenge theme lifted from Kill Bill. Inception and its ideas and characters belong to Christopher Nolan. Kill Bill and its ideas and characters belong to Quentin Tarantino and his various sources of inspiration.**

3. Yusuf.

The place is miserable and hot, a noisy bustle of dark-skinned men and women hurrying about their business. He shoves forward through a crowd of not quite familiar faces, ignoring vendors, sipping on a bottle of ice water.  
He takes his time getting there. He passes by a few of the alleys and broken streets that saved him from Cobol before the last job, before Mr. Saito appeared to fly him out. He didn't question it at the time, filled only with relief to still have a life and a chance to join his children. He can't remember how Eames knew Saito's name.  
He sees Yusuf's place, waiting for him at the end of an alley littered with trash. He walks there, tapping the third needle against his leg.

There's no one home.  
Yusuf's cat appears, jumping out of the darkness to chase an invisible mouse. It makes a noise at him that sounds like the growl of a small tiger and continues on its way, fur standing on end. He watches it go, convinces himself that it would be petty to shoot the stupid animal.  
He explores the place, picking through jars and metal instruments that line dusty shelves, rearranging them, attempting to translate labels written in French and another language he doesn't understand. He catches pieces of prescriptions; sleep, anxiety, cough. He gets bored and stops, thinking he should call Fischer.  
"Mr. Cobb?"  
He looks up and Yusuf waves at him, sheepish. "You look good for a man who's broken out of prison," Yusuf tells him. "How can I help you?"  
"Do you know why I'm here?" Dom asks.  
"You expect the others to keep up with me? The only one who bothers is Mr. Eames."  
"And where's he been lately?"  
"Working, I suspect." Yusuf smiles. "You know I'm married, now? It's been a year."  
Dom returns the smile. "Congratulations." He's surprised to find he means it. Yusuf is exactly the same, fat and pleasant, reeking of sour chemicals. There's a gold ring on his left hand, on the wedding finger, engraved with a small cross. "She's a lucky woman."  
"Her parents are happy. She's a rich woman now," Yusuf replies. He shrugs at Dom. "I've got everything I need paid for. It's strange, still working out of this dirty lab."  
"I've been told how generous Saito has been," Dom says. His tone is sharp.  
"Mr. Cobb," Yusuf says, "I want you to know I'm sorry for what happened to you. We are all guilty of deceiving you."  
Dom thinks of Ariadne, her hair cut short, her child's drawings covering the wall. "Not all of you," he says, quietly.  
"Well, before you stick me with that needle you're keeping in your pocket..." Yusuf crosses in front of Dom and slowly digs behind the counter at the back of the place, frowning as he searches. "I had something here for you. That's odd. It's gone." He glances back at Dom. "Mr. Cobb?"  
"Yes?"  
"I really am sorry."

He doesn't inject Yusuf with the sedative, not right away. He feels sick with what all of this is leading up to, tired of running from too many enemies and worried about Ariadne's family. Now, he knows Yusuf has a wife who will be worried as well. Here, sitting in silence with Yusuf while they take turns sipping from a bottle of sweet wine, he starts to wonder if Arthur was right when he said Dom had gotten what he deserved. He wonders if he really murdered his wife, handed her mind the loaded gun. Yusuf and his shop fade into the background, spots of color blurring his vision. Yusuf won't run away from him. It's disconcerting, having the condemned help his executioner. "Yusuf, if I walked out of this place, what would you do?" he asks.  
Yusuf finishes the bottle. "I would go home to my wife," he says.  
Dom nods. "Good man."  
He doesn't feel the prick of the needle at first, only the warmth of the wine. He raises a hand to the back of his neck, but the syringe is gone, dropped to the floor and crushed by someone wearing brown loafers. He looks at Yusuf, who climbs to his feet and grimaces. "I'm sorry, Mr. Cobb," he says, again.  
Dom wants to say he's starting to doubt the sincerity of that statement, but his tongue is swollen. He staggers to his feet and crashes into a pair of shelves that fall on top of him, covering him with a spectacular spray of debris and slick shards of glass.  
"Mmph," he groans.

Yusuf's legs go by, stomping across the floor in a pattern of yellow and brown. Two more legs join Yusuf's, longer and leaner, dressed in a horrid pink plaid. All of the colors make his guts churn. He leans over and wretches.  
He doesn't know how long he's been on the floor, trying to catch his breath, when someone searches him, going through his pockets. They turn up the needle meant for Yusuf and two totems, one bishop and one red die. The same someone yells something at him in a voice as grainy as sand and kicks him in the stomach, making him wretch again.  
"We have you now," someone says, and Dom recognizes that it's Eames.  
He's rolled onto his back.  
"As helpless as a sodding turtle," Eames observes. "Though not quite as ugly. I'll give you that, Mr. Cobb."  
He and Yusuf exchange looks. "What now?" Yusuf asks.  
Eames leans over Dom and sticks a finger in his cheek, digging into the flesh. "Now, we take him downstairs to that awful room of yours and put him through his paces," he tells Yusuf. To Dom, he says, "Did you really believe we would make this easy for you?"  
Dom glares up at him. "Fischer..." he manages to gasp.  
"Let me tell you the truth, Dom," Eames says. "Mr. Saito and Mr. Fischer can play and pretend all they want about ruling the world and hiring a bunch of goons to intimidate and harrass people. But they don't know how to hurt people like I do. Believe me when I say I plan to hurt you, Dom." He reaches over Dom and picks up Ariadne and Arthur's totems, slipping them into the inside pocket of his blazer. "And I'll have help."  
Eames straightens and steps out of sight, followed by Yusuf.  
Dom is stretched out, his heart pounding in his chest, waiting for the drug to take effect. He counts the seconds, then the minutes, waiting.

He blinks, and the world fades to black.


	4. Chapter 4

**Note: Sequel to Inception with revenge theme lifted from Kill Bill. Inception and its ideas and characters belong to Christopher Nolan. Kill Bill and its ideas and characters belong to Quentin Tarantino and his various sources of inspiration.**

_It's warm in their kitchen. He stands in front of a stove, stirring a pot of thick soup. Scents hit his nostrils, saffron, basil, tickling the fine hairs that lead to the back of his throat. He picks up a spoon from the wooden box where they keep their clean utensils, scoops up a mouthful to taste. The soup is a family recipe, passed down from Mal's great-grandmother. He freezes, startled by a pair of slender arms snaking around his waist._  
_Mal rests her chin on his shoulder. She sings a little, something mournful. "You've been too quiet too long," she says._  
_He gently pushes her away. "Why are you here, Mal?"_  
_She blinks at him, hurt and confusion souring her expression. "I'm here because we love each other," she says. "Are you feeling all right?" She brings a hand to his face, touches his mouth. He can't help it; he kisses her thumb, tastes her skin. "Dom?"_  
_"I thought you were gone forever," he admits._  
_She shakes her head, laughing at him. "I only went to the market with Phillipa. Why don't you go to bed and rest for a while?"_  
_He catches her eyes, bright and big, full of love. The kitchen is warm, the icebox decorated by Phillipa's scrawling works of art. The floor under his shoes is hardwood; there's a stain just by the window where Mal accidentally dropped a little jar of paint. He looks at her again, the way she moves, her chest rising and falling as she breathes. "You're dead," he tells her. "You're a projection."_  
_"A what?" She steps toward him. "I'm alive, Dom. And I'm worried for you. You haven't been yourself - "_  
_"Damn it, Eames, lose the act!"_  
_Mal stops. "Who are you talking to?"_

_He opens his eyes and Mal is stretched out on the floor beside him, hip to hip, nose to nose. She grasps his hands in her own and brings them to her lips. She's absolutely beautiful, undone by sleep. He reaches out and traces the line of her jaw, hoping she's real. He sees a PASIV in the corner of his vision; thin tubes stick out of their elbows, connecting them to the device. She sits up and releases herself from the machine, smiling at him._  
_"Welcome back, Dom," she says._  
_He stays where he is. "Where are we?" Mal leans over and kisses him, slipping her tongue between his teeth. He accepts the kiss, welcomes the crush of her lips. "Home," she murmurs. "We're home."_  
_"We were in the kitchen - "_  
_"Shhh," she says, and kisses him again._  
_"None of this is real," he says._  
_"I'm real," she tells him, and kisses him a third time._  
_He's not sure anymore._

_They're together on a beach, their legs bare, letting the waves lick the sand from their skin. He wonders where the children are, maybe in the house with Miles looking after them. He asks Mal, who gives him a queer look and shakes her head. "Dom, Miles is dead," she says._  
_The water suddenly turns cold. He moves away from her. The air smells like salt and sand and he hates it. He hates her. "No, he's not, Mal. You're lying."_  
_"I would never lie to you," she says._  
_"Then where are our children?"_  
_"They're at home, waiting for you."_  
_He looks at the rolling waves, the icy water. "If I swam out there, and didn't come back, would you come after me?"_  
_"What are you saying?"_  
_"If I disappeared into the water, would you follow me?"_  
_She comes to him, puts a hand on his shoulder. "You're waiting for a train - " she begins, but he runs away._  
_He runs until the water reaches his chest, sinks until he can't breathe._  
_He's alone._

_He opens his eyes. They're in Paris, walking along a familiar street. There is no one around them; the entire city is empty. She walks ahead of him, wearing a coat he bought her after she caught the flu, chasing after their children in the rain. She looks back at him. "Hurry up!" she calls._  
_"Where are we going?" he asks._  
_"We're going to meet Arthur," she says. "Do you remember where he is?"_  
_He stops. "Eames," he says, "take off her face."_  
_Mal turns and Eames replaces her, grinning at Dom. "I thought it might be too soon to ask about him," Eames says, "but it was worth a shot, I suppose."_  
_"I'm going to kill you," Dom tells him._  
_"Like you killed Mallorie?" Eames fires back._  
_Dom's voice doesn't waver. "Yes."_

4. Eames.

It's easier now, seeing the dream.

Eames has a weakness that shouldn't be a weakness, not in any profession and not in the present. But Dom can see where to push and prod, he learned by watching Arthur, and he circles around Eames, rebuilding the world around them. Eames lets him, watching with wry amusement as Paris becomes the snowy fortress where Mal shot Fischer, then more than that, a great mountain with black pits that are caves full of secrets. The whole place is surrounded by mirrors that reach forever into the sky, folding the world into quarters. He allows Eames to assert himself, stepping forward to test the delicate glass bottom of the valley between them and the mountain.  
"Are my secrets up there, hidden in all of those caves?" Eames asks.  
"One of them is," Dom replies.  
"Are you ready for this?"  
"I have nothing to lose."  
Eames comes at him, brandishing a knife that's black as coal.  
Dom waits.

Everything is white, so pure that the sunlight pouring in from above casts things in shadow. The maze is simple, and there are no projections here to chase or kill them. Dom runs, hears Eames behind him, panting, surprised by the place he's created.  
They chase, dodging each other, calling each other's name, searching for an end.  
Dom doesn't mind the thought of death. He knows this is his strength.  
He rearranges the inside of the mountain, sending Eames exactly where he wants him.  
There's a shout in the distance, a cry as Eames drops into one of the caves.  
Dom closes his eyes and dreams of a staircase made of ice, one that spirals down to a place where he can see Eames, but Eames can't see him. The staircase is real, waiting to be used. He crosses over to it and climbs down, each step taking him farther and farther into the dark.  
He sees Eames.

Eames is on his back, wincing with pain. But he gets up and fishes his knife out of the snow, looking around for Dom. He doesn't see him. "Do whatever you like!" Eames shouts. "We'll both wake up in reality and then I'll cut every part of you off that I think you have one too many of!" He pauses. "Do you think I'm afraid of you?"  
Dom closes his eyes.  
When he opens them, Eames is standing very still, peering into the blackest part of the cave. The knife falls to the ground. Dom can't see what he's looking at, but Eames is terrified, struck dumb with horror.  
He leaves the staircase and enters the cave.  
Eames doesn't pay attention to him, doesn't seem to hear him approaching from behind.  
Dom picks up the knife. He stabs Eames, twice, between his shoulder blades and in his side.  
Eames says, "You're not supposed to know that," and falls to the ground, dying.  
Dom waits. Eames is not really dead. If he's correct, Eames is waking up now in the real world, shaken, but alive.  
He waits; to die or wake up, he's not sure.  
"I'm awake," he says, finally.

_He opens his eyes. Gunshots._  
_Shouting. Cursing._

Someone speaks to him. It's Fischer, but his voice isn't coming from a phone. He stands next to Dom, sullen in a gray suit, and gestures at the room they're in. "It's fortunate," Fischer says, "that your friend Yusuf already had such accommodating facilities." He snaps his fingers. "Wake up, Mr. Charles."  
Dom does. He realizes his shoes are wet. He glances down and sees that Yusuf is dead, truly dead, bleeding from a bullet-sized hole in his cheek. He bends down. "That was unfortunate for him," Fischer says.  
Dom ignores him. He lifts up Yusuf's left hand and carefully slides the wedding band from his finger. He stands and mentally crosses out Yusuf's name. "Where's Mr. Eames?" he asks Fischer.  
"I don't know," Fischer says, "I guess that's up to you." He points to the room.  
Dom looks. They're all there in Yusuf's place, hooked up to a PASIV; Ariadne, Arthur, Eames. "Mr. Saito?"  
Fischer shakes his head. "He's proving to be a little more difficult to track down. That's all right. He can't buy all the airlines."  
"Of course he is." Dom walks over to where Eames is dreaming, glaring down at him. "How long do they have?"  
"I thought ten hours would be enough," Fischer says. "They're not waking up. And if they do, my men are armed and ready."  
"How long do I have with each of them?"  
Fischer doesn't smile at him. "However long you need. I only hope you find what you're looking for."  
He remembers. "Mr. Fischer, would you do me a favor?"  
"Of course."  
"I need to know if a man named Miles is watching my children."  
"Of course."

_He doesn't like it, having another needle in him. But the dream is pleasant, at first. He wanders, he searches. He finds her, lost in creation, trapped by her own architecture. This time, he stamps down the pity rising in his chest, approaches her in a storm._  
_Ariadne._  
_He has to know what they all know. He has to know so he can make them pay for their sins._  
_He forgets himself, losing himself in his hatred. She has a daughter. So does he. She has a husband. He had a wife. He thinks, you can't excuse yourself for knowing better now when you should've thought better before._  
_He'll start with her, in the dream, and take them apart one by one._

_1. Ariadne._  
_2. Arthur._  
_3. Yusuf...but Yusuf is dead._  
_4. Eames._  
_5. Saito._

He approaches her in a storm.


	5. Chapter 5

**Note: Sequel to Inception with revenge theme lifted from Kill Bill. Inception and its ideas and characters belong to Christopher Nolan. Kill Bill and its ideas and characters belong to Quentin Tarantino and his various sources of inspiration.**

She's waiting for him, sitting at the cafe where they shared their first dream, wearing the same simple shirt and pants, her hair grown long again. She sees him, an angry figure in the middle of a storm. Rain pours on them, soaking their clothes. If she's afraid of him, she doesn't show it.  
"Does it have to look like this," she asks, "when I die?" The table in front of her tips over, torn apart by heavy gusts of wind. She stands up and folds her arms over her chest, regarding him with solemn eyes. "You're looking for answers, and I know I don't have many to give. I can only assume that means my time here won't be long."  
He stares at her hands. He sees that her right hand is covered in dried blood, the nail of her index finger missing. He speaks and tries to keep his voice even. "Where would you like us to talk?"  
The sky rumbles with thunder overhead, gray and blue, darkening. He looks up at it curiously, expecting it to fold itself in half. "I'm giving you a chance," he says.  
"Why?" she asks.  
"Because I don't want to hurt you," he says.  
"It's too late for that." She looks up at the sky and frowns. They watch as the colors in the sky become bright, swirling in patterns that look like fingerprints, as if a child has painted the sky with pastels, smoothing everything out. The clouds turn blue, their rolling forms interrupted by black lines that could be flapping birds.  
The cafe disappears, erased, nothing left but the remains of the table. Buildings become line drawings in crayola, uneven boxes made of purple and green and red. It''s as if they live in a coloring book, standing on a street that's actually black construction paper. Cords appear and tie themselves between street lamps that resemble pins, stringing together rows and rows of paper dolls.  
He realizes what she's created. It's Diana's world, all of her drawings and projects living together, overflowing with color and joy.  
"It's beautiful," he tells Ariadne.  
She nods, tears staining her eyes. She's back in the present, hair short. "I'd rather say good-bye here," she says.  
"Tell me what happened."

"Miles came to me," she says, "before you both told me about the job." They're walking side by side, feet crunching on grass that's wet with green ink. "I swear I didn't know about you or Arthur or dream-sharing before he talked to me."  
"And what did he say?"  
"He said, you needed help. He said he thought I could be the one who helped you."  
A breeze blows, carrying origami cranes and stars with it. They step aside, letting the cranes pass, stop at a bench made of stone. Ariadne sits and touches the empty side of the bench. A flower carves itself into the stone, its petals unfurling into the shape of Diana's name. She smiles at the sight. "We found this bench in an antique shop while I was pregnant," she says. "That's how we decided on her name." She laughs. "The first four months were spent arguing over her name, and the issue is settled by an old bench. Sit down, Mr. Cobb."  
He does.  
"You said she was a shade, but your wife said something to me I haven't forgotten. She asked me if I ever felt what it was like to be half of a whole." Ariadne looks at the drawings in front of them. The lines blur, beginning to erase themselves. "I didn't, then. I didn't when I married Tom, either, but please don't tell him that. I never felt like half of a whole until I had Diana. So, I understand how badly you want to go back to your children."  
The buildings, crude rectangles and squares with yellow circles for windows, disappear.  
"I want you to listen to me," she says, "because I'm only going to say this once. Miles came to me and asked me if I would help you. I didn't know what he meant until after you came and talked to me. You said it was about a job, that you needed to get back to your family. Miles told me you were sick."  
"And you believed him." Dom looks at her, understanding. "That's why you didn't ask me if I murdered my wife."  
"What I thought at the beginning doesn't matter. They dragged me in and I let them. They talked to me when you weren't there."  
"What did they say?"  
"Arthur said you were going to prison."  
Dom stands. "And you helped them send me there. You helped them take my kids away from me."  
"Yes, I did." Ariadne meets his gaze. "Honestly, Dom, now I think it was the right thing to do." She touches the flower on the bench. It withers and shrinks, crushed to powder. "I'm sorry if you think what was done to you was unfair. I'm sorry that you'll never see your kids again. But if you think you're not responsible for at least some of the terrible things that have happened to you, then I'm truly sorry." She shuts her eyes. "And I'm sorry I'll never wake up."  
Dom kneels beside her. "Ariadne," he says, "I promise you, you will wake up. But you won't remember Diana anymore than you'll remember you were dreaming."  
A gun appears in his hand. He points the end of it at her temple, pulls the trigger.  
Around him, the city and the sky tear themselves to pieces, crumpling into piles of paper as red as the blood pooling around Ariadne's body.  
He turns to leave and jumps back, startled by the small figure standing behind him.  
Diana looks up at him, pale, blank.  
"Go away," he tells her.  
She screams.

He wakes up with the sound ringing in his ears. Arthur sleeps on the cot to his right, his forehead glistening with sweat.  
Eames is on a cot across from Arthur.  
He starts to search for Yusuf, remembers, and groans, covering his face with his hands.  
He climbs out of the cot and finds Ariadne. Her eyes are shut, her body still.  
"Fischer!" he shouts.  
Fischer steps into sight, brow wrinkled. "Why are you awake?" he asks.  
"Is she breathing?" Dom demands.  
"Check for yourself!" Fischer snaps. "This is ridiculous. You were barely under for an hour."  
Dom checks.  
Her breath hits his face, cold and damp. "She's in limbo," he tells Fischer. "I'm going under again to finish this. If she doesn't wake up, throw her off the damn cot."  
"Limbo?"  
"Just do it."  
Fischer shrugs. "Did you get what you need?"  
"No," Dom admits, "but I'm going under with Arthur this time."  
Fischer takes Dom's arm and leads him back to his empty cot. "He was your friend, he should have the information you want."  
"He does." He says this with certainty. "Getting him to confess is the hard part."  
"Well, this round," Fischer says, "why don't you take your time and find out?"  
Dom closes his eyes.

When he wakes up in the dream, pain explodes in his belly. He feels for a wound and lifts up hands that are soaked with blood.  
Arthur appears and winks at him.  
They are the only solid things in a white void.  
"Welcome to my world," Arthur says.


	6. Chapter 6

**Note-A: Sequel to Inception with revenge theme lifted from Kill Bill. Inception and its ideas and characters belong to Christopher Nolan. Kill Bill and its ideas and characters belong to Quentin Tarantino and his various sources of inspiration.**

**Note-B: Just wanted to say thanks for the comments that I've received so far for this weird little story. They've been very encouraging, so Cobb and the Gang have only you people to blame for me keeping them on this odd path. Thanks!**

_Arthur disappears into the void, and Dom falls into an ocean, struggling to reach the surface, his body numb with cold._  
_He breaks out of the water and swims to shore, cursing himself for not being prepared. He's on his knees, pulling himself through wet sand when a man's shadow falls over him. "That's a bit odd, going for a swim with your clothes on," the man says. He's old, his hair white, his throat marked by a jagged scar that starts under his chin and ends above his shirt collar. He's British, his accent pleasant._  
_"I wasn't swimming," Dom replies, "Hello, Miles."_  
_"I don't think we've met," Miles says._  
_"You're wrong," Dom tells him. "We've known each other for years. I married Mallorie."_  
_Miles chuckles. "That I would remember."  
__"Maybe not in this place." __He reminds himself that Miles is not real, just a projection. It doesn't help that Miles appears to be genuinely puzzled by Dom's ease with him. He talks to Miles as if Miles is nothing more than a picture of the real man, a copy. __"I need you here so I remember that I can't stay. I've got to go back, kill Arthur." _

_Limbo is not the same as he remembers it, having been reimagined by many more unlucky dreamers, men and women he can sense lurking in their own memories here. The city is there, still in ruins. But the atmosphere has changed. It's dimmer, crowded by too many minds.  
Beside him, __Miles rubs his chin. "Why do you want to kill Arthur?"_  
_"So you remember now?" Dom glances at him._  
_"What are you talking about?" Miles demands, indignant. "I'm an old man, Mr. Cobb, not a cripple. My memory's perfectly intact."_  
_Dom holds an arm out in front of Miles, protecting him from a sudden change in the sidewalk, a path splitting the curb in two. They turn left, following the new path. "Nevermind," Dom says, "I just have to leave here. That's all."_  
_"You're avoiding my question, Dom. Why do you want to kill Arthur?"_  
_He remembers Arthur sticking the needle into his own arm. "Because he deserves it," he says. __"He's the one who turned me in. And you helped him." He points at the old man's scar. "Isn't that why he killed you?"_  
_Miles shakes his head. "He didn't kill me."_  
_"Then who did?"_  
_"You tell me, Dom. You're the one who brought me here." Miles takes in the empty buildings, a cityscape of half-finished skyscrapers and streets with no people. "Tell me what's going on in that brain of yours."_  
_Dom tenses. "Arthur."_  
_Miles stops and sighs. "You believe he convinced me to turn you into the police as soon as you made it home. You believe he convinced me that you murdered my daughter. And what about the others? What do you believe about them?"_  
_"Saito was a means to an end, like Ariadne. He hooked Eames the same way he always does, and Eames brought in Yusuf."_  
_"You're making me sad, Dom. Is that all you believe?"_  
_Dom turns away from Miles, imagines him melting into nothing, fading away like Mal's creations in limbo. "And you're dead, Miles. Unless Eames was lying to me. And if he was, I'll know soon enough."_  
_Music drifts through the street, lonely and echoing through the city. It's Mal's song. He freezes in place, terrified that she'll appear at her father's side._  
_Dom waits until the music stops. "I have Fischer looking for you," he says. "He'll me if it's true."_  
_"Robert Fischer?" Miles scoffs. "Why are you working with him?"_  
_"I owed him. He lost everything because of the idea we put in his mind."_  
_"No, I lost everything!" Miles glares at him. "And now you're fast asleep, at the mercy of the man whose mind you poisoned. Is that smart, Dom?"_  
_"He's helping me-"  
__"No, he's not. He's digging you in deeper. What you need to do is wake up before anyone else gets hurt."_  
_"I can't!" Dom hates that he's crying, that the tears are hot and real.  
__Miles is only a voice now. "No man can change what's been done. We make our choices in the present, Dominic."_

_He is alone when he finds the tracks, alone when the ground begins to tremble as the train approaches, whistling in warning. _  
_He lays facing the monster, screams at the roar of metal and smoke crushes him._

"What are you doing here?" Arthur stands very still, his voice clipped.  
"I created limbo, Arthur." Dom knows he looks like hell. His skull aches, his shirt and pants are covered in layers of dust and grime.  
"Impressive," Arthur admits. "Well, if you want answers, you're going to have to fight for them." He turns away from Dom and pulls a sword off the wall behind him, a thin blade with a serrated edge. The void has been replaced by a bare room the size of a gymnasium, with hardwood floors, no windows, only a hidden source of light that casts the room in shades of red and gold. "Then I'm ready," Dom says.  
"I never told you what happened during the last job, did I?" Arthur continues, testing the sword. He cuts through the air, moving gracefully. "I had to create a kick where there wasn't any gravity. Had to fight off some nasty projections while doing it, too." He points the sword at Dom and winks. "Out there, I'm willing to admit you had a shot at beating me. My leg's been busted for years. But in dreams we get what we want."  
"But it's not real," Dom reminds him.  
Arthur smiles. "Dom, you're going to die in here. I'm going to make certain of it."  
"Arthur, why did you do it?"  
Arthur hesitates. "I already told you. In dreams-"  
Dom rushes at him, avoidng the arc of the sword as it slices through the air inches in front his chest. He moves back, thinks of a gun in his pocket. Something small and lethal. Arthur lunges forward, aiming for his throat, trying to take his head off his shoulders.  
Dom drops to the ground. His pocket is heavy where the gun has materialized. He pulls it out and aims at Arthur's body, squeezing the trigger. Arthur jumps to the right, losing his grip on the sword. His legs give out under him and he falls to his knees, panting. He stares at the gaping wound in his knee, eyes wide with anger.  
"Do I have a shot now?" Dom calls, mocking him.  
Arthur reaches for the sword, but Dom gets there first. He kicks it out of Arthur's hands, grabs him by the hair, and hits him as hard as he can. Arthur's nose cracks under his knuckles, blood rushing out of his nostrils.  
"I have a list," Dom tells him, and hits him again.  
Arthur cries out, doubling over.  
"It has the name of every single member of our team on it. Ariadne was number one. She's gone, Arthur."  
He rolls the smaller man onto his stomach, watches him take in the news. He smiles as Arthur's shoulders stiffen, tense with fury. "Your name was number two on that list. You're going to join her. But first..." Dom picks the sword up off the ground. "...you're going to tell me exactly what I want to hear. Why did the police show up at my house and take me away from my children?"  
Arthur is crying.  
Dom raises the sword. "Tell me, Arthur."  
Arthur tells him.

Fischer is not there when he wakes up. Arthur and Ariadne are still.  
Dom gets up.  
He goes to Eames. "You said you planned to hurt me," he says. "We'll see."

_The dream, this time, is black._


	7. Chapter 7

**Note: Sequel to Inception with revenge theme lifted from Kill Bill. Inception and its ideas and characters belong to Christopher Nolan. Kill Bill and its ideas and characters belong to Quentin Tarantino and his various sources of inspiration.**

**A/N: Realized I misspelled "Mombasa," and couldn't remember the difference between "dice" and "die." That's just embarrassing.**

He carries a red die and a bishop in his pocket.  
He is surrounded by music, blasted by strings and horns screaming together in a cacophony so thick he has to push his way through their vibrations. It is akin to tearing away a large spiderweb, the threads of which are shimmering at irregular intervals. The music is Piaf, over and over, different variations, none of them in tune.

When he breaks free of the cloud of noise, he finds himself standing in the cave he created for Mr. Eames.  
Eames is trapped there, eyes glued to a metal contraption that could be some sort of homemade TV set, watching a series of bright scenes play out on its screen. He sits in uneasy silence. Dom doesn't know that the TV was built as a joke by Eames's father. He doesn't understand what any of the saturated colors bleeding into every scene mean to his old teammate, who hasn't noticed his arrival.  
He promised Eames pain. If he wants to make good on that promise, he shouldn't care.  
He reaches out and touches Eames's shoulder. "You've got all my secrets locked up in this box," Eames says. "It looks like you've done your research well, Mr. Cobb."  
"I didn't have to. Arthur told me everything before we were introduced."  
Eames snorts. "Information is his currency." He shakes off Dom's hand and stands, hands up in mock surrender. "I guess since we're seeing each other again so soon, he must have paid his debt in full."  
Dom's eyes drift to the television. Figures elude him; a boy running through snow, an old woman dying in bed. Arthur appears, briefly, handing something small and red to Eames. They are young in this memory, both of them dressed in uniform. Eames laughs at Arthur.  
"That's how I got this," Eames tells Dom. A poker chip appears in his right hand. He slips it between his index and middle finger, smiling as the chip appears to split into thirds, each piece widening out into a fully formed new chip. "One to three, three to twenty. He was the one who taught me to gamble."  
Dom looks back at Eames. "That made it easier for him to lie to you," he says. "It's why you believed him when he told you I was a murderer and a criminal. And when-"  
"When I found out he used me for his own selfish purposes, I shot him." Eames shrugs. "It's all very formulaic. But he didn't lie about you being a criminal, Dom. We're all thieves here." He closes his hand over the chips he's created. "I don't lie. I forge, I impersonate, I trick, and I work all the angles, but I never lie." He opens his hand, revealing only a single chip. It's red, worn in the middle by his thumb. "You killed Mal, and you ran away when you thought you might face justice for your actions. Cobol, Arthur, your guilt; those things don't matter. What matters is that you're a useless coward."  
"I didn't have a choice!"  
"No, you chose poorly." Eames smiles. "And what are you going to say to them when they find out about this, Dom? Dream-sharing, limbo?" He points at the screen. "The difference between you and me is that I can face my demons. That was a nasty trick you pulled during the first round, but I made it out okay. We could all still make it out of here."  
"If it wasn't for Saito or you or anyone else, I might have a chance with my kids!" Dom shouts, painfully aware of how petulant he sounds. He slips Ariadne and Arthur's totems from his pocket and throws them at Eames.  
They fall to the ground. Eames throws the chip on the ground to join them. "You'll never see your kids again," he promises.

The next few hours are empty except for the sound of screaming.

When Dom returns to Fischer's dank prison, his bones ache. His throat is dry, worn out. He can still feel Eames's blood rolling over his skin, soaking his clothes. He stays where he is, praying that Fischer is gone. There's only one name left on his list.  
He sits up and rests his hands on his knees. "Saito," he says, softly.

"I've been waiting for you," a woman's voice replies.

Dom is frozen. He stares at her.

"Do you think you're dreaming?" Mal asks. She holds her old totem. She moves toward him, kneels, and spins the top on the floor. "Let's find out," she says.

He thinks, he doesn't hear the top stop spinning. But he does. The top rolls across the floor, stopping at the end of his cot.  
It makes a clicking sound as it falls over, like a broken clock.

"This isn't real," Dom says.

He has to believe that to stay sane.


	8. Chapter 8

**Note: Sequel to Inception with revenge theme lifted from Kill Bill. Inception and its ideas and characters belong to Christopher Nolan. Kill Bill and its ideas and characters belong to Quentin Tarantino and his various sources of inspiration.**

Robert has never been a good man. He would place the blame solely on his poor excuse for a father, but having kept everything else in his life separate and wholly extricable from the man, he has learned to accept his burden of responsibility.  
He stands in a room below his standards, wearing a suit that cost an obscene amount of money, playing guardian to the sleeping bodies of the people who put the idea in his head to destroy his own inheritance. There are four bodies in the room. His men have since gotten rid of the body of the owner of the place, stuffed it into an available furnace. Mr. Charles - or Mr. Cobb, or whatever his name is - looks troubled in his sleep, which is fine.  
Robert has never had much experience with lucid dreaming, apart from his experiences on the plane ride he'd been tricked into taking four years ago. If Dom wants him to believe that in this dream space he can create worlds and cause each of his former companions exquisite pain in ways that Robert can't even begin to fathom, he's not going to argue. It's bloodless revenge.  
By now, he's spent hours memorizing their faces. He thinks he remembers the girl from the dream - hair up, pretty mouth. The dark-haired man and his poorly dressed companion - old money, zero taste - aren't familiar at all. But he knows Mr. Cobb very well.

...

_Mal's eyes are hypnotic, wide and dark with worry._  
_"You're not here. I'm trapped in the dream and you're still Eames," Dom says._  
_"Is he one of them?" Mal asks, pointing to the other people hooked up to their own PASIVs. Dom follows her arm and counts three people: Ariadne, Arthur, and Eames. None of them are moving._  
_"And I'm asleep," Dom insists. "I'm drugged, and you're not my wife."_  
_"Why is Arthur here?" Mal asks. She walks over to Arthur's body, caresses his forehead. "Dom, what have you done?"_  
_She glances at Ariadne. "Who is this girl?"_  
_"I'm dreaming," Dom says. His mouth is dry. He drops to the floor and grabs the top. He spins it, watching in horror as it quickly stops and falls onto its side. "Fischer must have screwed me."_  
_"Fischer?"_  
_"Damn it, Mal, Fischer! Robert Fischer, the man I fucked over just to see James and Phillipa again!"_  
_Mal's body stills. "Where are they?" she asks._  
_Dom realizes that is a very good question._

_..._

"Most people forget the definition of the word projection," Eames says, glaring down at Cobb's body.  
Yusuf is bored, but he looks at him and raises his eyebrows. "Enlighten me, Mr. Eames."  
Eames shrugs. "It's simple. A projection can be a guess, a copy, a reflection of something else. Men have the biggest ego of all the animals. When we project, we reflect ourselves."  
"Does he know?" Yusuf nods at Cobb.  
"He'll find out," Eames says.

...

_"Cobol," Dom says. It makes sense to him now. Fischer wouldn't have the balls to kill Miles or take on Saito his own._  
_Mal recognizes that name. "If they have our children, you have to get them back!" she snaps._  
_"First, I have to wake up," Dom reminds her. "I've got to get out of here, Mal."_  
_"Dom, you're not dreaming!"_

_..._

Robert's loath to admit it, but he inherited his intelligence from his father; the electricity's there, helping him fit the puzzle pieces together. He can infer what he doesn't know, but the big picture is the same.  
He has every player he needs; Cobb, Miss Hansen, Arthur, Eames, and Saito.  
Saito, it turned out, was the easiest one to beat. That was disappointing.  
Spending fifty years getting older with no memory of how you came to be where you are scars the mind. Mr. Cobb was very descriptive. There was a castle, armed guards, and a warm ocean. Then suddenly two shots rang out, both men were dead, and he woke up convinced he'd be going home. He's told Robert many times how Saito looked after, the brief puzzlement in his eyes. Robert doesn't think he's ever felt anything close to the pure joy Cobb must have felt when Saito gave him everything he ever wanted with one phone call.  
Cobb and his people tried to mimic the emotion, manipulated him into believing there was love where there wasn't.  
He can understand the shock that went through Cobb's system when he was arrested. Nobody likes to be torn apart.

...

_"What are you doing?"_  
_Mal watches Dom unhook each of them, one by one. They don't stir, but they'll be waking up sooner than expected. Dom doesn't consider this a favor. "How long have they been like this?" Mal asks._  
_"Ten hours," he says. "They're too far gone now. None of them will know who we are."_  
_"And how will that help us?"_  
_"I don't want their help!" Dom snarls. "Just let me do this."_

_..._

Somewhere far away, Ariadne swims in warm water, the skirt of her dress caught between her legs. There's thunder overhead, and lightning. Every flash of light casts black shadows across the sky. Some of them look like hands reaching toward the water.

...

"Hasn't he paid enough?" Yusuf asks. It's a dangerous question.  
Eames remembers the totems they pulled out of Cobb's pockets, chess piece, loaded die. All that was left of Arthur and Ariadne, and the brief electricity of words and affection that surrounded them. "He's punishing himself," Eames tells Yusuf. If he's being honest, they all deserve what they get.  
"What did he show you in your dream?"  
Eames stares at Yusuf. "A bad memory," he replies softly.

...

_Cobb. Hansen. Arthur. Eames. Saito._

Robert carries a pewter pinwheel with him now, wherever he goes. It's heavy in his hand, engraved with his father's initials. It's the only way he can keep track of what's real anymore.  
How can you trust a man who says he invaded your mind to save himself? How do you know when the dream ends?  
Cold panic rises in his chest, hollowing him out. For a moment, he loses touch. This could be another dream, another lie, a set up to bring his company back to its knees.  
The pinwheel has his father's initials, and the deep grooves of the letters feel familiar and right under his thumb. All of this happened four years ago. He woke up and dissolved a business worth millions.  
If he's dreaming again, he wonders what he will do when he wakes up this time.

Eames, in his tacky shirt and loose slacks, is closest to him, perfectly still.

Robert finds it unnerving.


End file.
